I thought my voice box was thoroughly damaged.
How wrong I was.
Now, I was screaming as hellfire enveloped my body, ripping through every nerve with excruciating pain.
The pain of my broken heart? It was nothing compared to this.
For a fleeting moment, I regretted jumping into the river.
Almost.
But then I remembered Alaric’s devastated face as I fell—the shock, the helplessness—and it was all worth it.
Eventually, the pain began to subside. It wasn’t sudden, but slow and agonizing, like peeling away layers of agony until there was nothing left but a hollow relief. A strange, numbing contentment took its place.
This was it. This was my fate.
I accepted it.
I was finally going to die.
I closed my eyes, ready for eternal sleep, hoping for the peace I’d craved for so long.
But once again, I was wrong.
As my pale skin dissolved in the flames, it began to change. It turned golden brown, glowing as if kissed by fire. My blond hair burned into ashes, replaced by long, crimson strands that felt alive against my back. My dull eyes turned pitch black, holding depths I couldn’t yet comprehend. My weak, fragile omega body was transformed—filled with an unnatural strength and raw, crackling power that hummed in my veins.
I didn’t understand what was happening, but as the transformation continued, realization struck me like a bolt of lightning.
I wasn’t dying.
I was being reborn.
My body floated weightlessly through the fire before being dropped onto solid ground. Disoriented, I struggled to process what had happened when three ethereal figures materialized in front of me.
“Who are you?” I rasped, my voice raw but audible. “Why did you save me? What happened to me?”
“Hold your tongue,” one of them commanded, her voice sharp and unyielding. “We will tell you what you need to know.”
“Who are you?” I demanded again, unable to keep the edge from my tone.
“We are the Three Fates,” they said in unison, their voices weaving together as one.
“I am Clotho,” said the first, her gaze steady and unreadable.
“I am Lachesis,” the second followed, her tone calm but firm.
“And I am Atropos,” finished the last, her voice carrying a finality that sent chills down my spine.
I blinked at them, trying to distinguish who was who, but their appearances were identical—eerily so.
The Three Fates? The name stirred something in my memory, a fragment of an ancient text I’d once read. My breath caught as it clicked.
“Oh my,” I whispered, my eyes widening. The Three Fates. The legendary weavers of life and death, the ones who controlled the cycle of existence itself. They were said to be more powerful than even Zeus.
But why would they save me?
They were known to be impartial, never interfering in the affairs of immortals. The last time they’d intervened, it was to prophesy the union of the destined demon and Selena’s heir.
Wait... Selena’s heir.
“We saved you because your thread of life isn’t over yet,” Atropos said, her voice cutting through my thoughts.
“Thread?” I asked, confused.
“Yes, thread,” Clotho explained patiently. “Everyone’s fate is represented by a thread in our loom.”
“We’re famous weavers, you know,” Atropos added, a hint of smugness in her tone.
“But I’m a demon,” I said hesitantly, still trying to make sense of it all.
“Everyone has a fate, so everyone has a thread,” Lachesis replied smoothly, waving her hand as if it were obvious. “Mortals, demons, even gods.”
“Fine,” I said, the confusion deepening. “But what happened to me? To my body? Am I still... a demon?”
The three exchanged glances, their silent communication unsettling.
“Mmm... yes, somehow,” Clotho said evasively.
“Yes, partly,” Lachesis added, her voice equally cryptic.
Their vague answers irritated me, but I pushed the frustration down. “Then why did you intervene? Aren’t you forbidden from meddling in the lives of immortals?”
Again, they exchanged looks, as though debating whether to reveal something.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Atropos stepped forward. Her gaze pierced through me as she spoke.
“Aroa, it is time you learned the truth of who you are.”
The truth?
“I know who I am,” I said, frowning.
But Atropos shook her head. “No, child. You don’t.”
The air around them grew heavy, crackling with energy, as if the universe itself was holding its breath.
“You,” Lachesis said, her voice reverent, “are Selena’s daughter. The princess of wolves.”
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